“Be back at three o’clock to-morrow,” sang out the boy in response.
In another instant, his obedient craft was on the lower turn, and, with the shouts and cheers of the assembled multitude ringing in his ears, Bud prepared to make his escape. At the extreme end of the track, he threw the lever of the vertical rudder over so sharply that the car almost capsized. Like a bird with a wounded wing, the framework fell partly on its side. Bud’s heart thumped. The ground seemed rushing up to meet him. To even scrape the surface meant ruin to the car.
The boy retained his presence of mind and did the right thing. But the car had lost so much headway that it did not respond at once. It wavered, tried to recover itself and then, almost balanced, fell within five or six feet of the earth. Escape did not seem possible. The aeroplane was yet on an angle, and the low end of the frame was just escaping the ground. If it struck, Bud’s work was over. Like lightning, the thought came to him that he must jump to escape the wreckage.
Just then, with the spring of an animal, a man’s crouched form hurled itself from the ground beneath the dragging end. Bud’s dry lips tried to cry out, but there was no time. His eye was quicker than his tongue. He saw the bronzed face of Jack Stanley, his gypsy friend, but no sound came from the boy’s lips. As the gypsy’s face flashed before him, something seemed to strike the car. A shock ran through the frame, and then, as if caught by a gale of wind, the dragging end of the frame flew up—the aeroplane, gathering speed, darted ahead, and the ship righting herself, began once more to climb skyward.
“Go it, Kid—yer all right!”
These words followed after Bud as he renewed his flight, and he realized that once again Jack Stanley had helped him over a crisis. Or, was it Madame Zecatacas’ magic ring?
“If it’s the ring,” thought Bud, “I’m goin’ to have still more use fur it. It’s got to make Jack and his wife sign the deed for me.”
Straight west over the “aerodrome,” the aeroplane took its new course as steadily and easily as if had not just escaped destruction. Several hundred feet in the air, Bud set the car on a level keel headed for the “slashings”—the valley some miles ahead.
He was well out of the grounds when Attorney Stockwell and the deputy untangled themselves from the dense crowd. But at no time, was he out of the lawyer’s sight. To the indignation of the spectators, Mr. Stockwell forced the deputy’s horse through the crowd and hurried toward the fair-ground entrance. There was no rear entrance leading in the direction Bud had flown, and in hastening to the main gate, the buggy had nearly a half mile to cover before passing from the enclosure. This was under trees and behind buildings that at once cut off the view of the disappearing aeroplane.